Is he dead
by xfmoon
Summary: Words are important. Tag to 7x22 Dead from New York.


**A/N:** My very first Castle fic, and it's about Martha, yeah go figure. I just really loved her in this episode, well I love her in every episode, she's a darling, this just awoke my muse. Anyways I hope you enjoy it, even though it's nothing new and exciting, just a little bit of introspection.

 **Spoilers:** For 7x22 Dead from New York.

 **Disclaimer:** I own no castles, not even this one.

* * *

She articulates the words over and over in a questioning manner. One time in a high voice, one in a deep. Trying to find the perfect balance. Weighing the words as if they were made of the purest gold, attempting to decide their worth. She tries singing them, feeling the tones on her tongue. Do they go fast or slow, piano or crescendo, and do some tones fit better than others? She can't quite tell... yet. But she'll get it; she will break the code before the big night. She always does.

Some says it comes with practice – getting it just right – but she knows better, it's an inherent trait. Of course it is possible to train and be good, but real greatness is bestowed upon the select few. That doesn't mean everything will come to them more easily; it just means that if they do the work, if they nurture their talent, they will excel and shine more brightly and beautifully than their peers. Martha knew she had talent, she had found a way to attend to it and foster it, perfecting and developing it through a lifetime. She had even been fortunate enough to pass that dedication to do what you loved and was good at with pride, on to the next generation.

Yet she doubted herself, doubted people still understood this art form, still understood her. Had her time passed her by? The world changed constantly, and with it the taste of the masses. Was theatre still relevant, or was it a dying craft. Had it by any chance evolved and become something else while she wasn't looking? Fortunately her son, who belonged a bit more to the modern world than her - as it is with children - knew just what to say for her to regain her confidence. So what if things went viral in her honing phase, it wasn't going to be humiliating, she had fought to be where she was and earned it fair and square. This was going to be her second act, and no one could take that away from her. So like a true star she picked herself up and once again pressed on.

Ready to try something new, to challenge herself, she continued playing around with her opening sentence. Vocalizing the words like different animals would, chirping like a bird, humming like a bee, growling like a bear, lisping like a snake, even barking like a dog. She whispered them so quietly she could barely hear them herself. Screamed them out loud until she ran out of air and had to stop. She swung the words out like a Frisbee or hid them like an ostrich hides its head in the sand. She pronounced each syllable clearly; each letter had its turn too. She stated them like a fact and spun them like fiction. Every emotion in her heart were let out, anger, laughter, crying, the whole shebang.

This was her style of communication. Her way of expressing herself. Her sons were the written word hers were the acted one. It was as an essential part of her as air is to the rest of the world. She functioned kind of like a ventilator, although it wasn't just hot air she blew out. She inhaled the words, transformed them to fit the scene and exhaled them again. As soon as she started she almost couldn't stop herself again, the different ideas on how to do it came pouring out of her.

Martha had always believed that preparation was key. She knew all her lines by heart, knew where to stand and where to look. And she wasn't superstitious but she still had a routine that she went through before every opening – and this was it, speaking the first line over and over for 48 hours prior to the premiere, that was her ritual. Some people carried rabbit's feet, some had a certain dance or ate a special meal. She had her words, particularly the first sentence. Even in show business, maybe even especially in showbiz, first impressions were important. It was crucial to capture the audience's attention, and to hold it. It is like it is when you meet new people; you form an opinion about them in those first few seconds. Those can be swayed and changed later on, but that first meet and greet is paramount for all future affiliation you'll have with them. And if you don't make an impact you'll end up as unimportant as an uttered word to a blind, deaf and dumb man.

As she stepped out on that stage she didn't know how it was going to go – success or failure, bowing or ducking out – but she was prepared. She took a deep breath, got into character, stepped into position and said: "Is he dead?"

* * *

 **A/N:** I usually don't ask for reviews, but seeing as this is my first Castle fic, please let me know what you thought. Thank you :)


End file.
